Hidden Abolitionists
by I am that Writer
Summary: It's 1859 when Elle Shoreson leaves her home in Boston for a trip with her father to the Henleys' Belmont Plantation, in Virginia. Elle makes new friends with the Henleys' son, William, and a slave girl about her age, named Clotee. The three all share the same thoughts against slavery, but the Henley family doesn't agree. Can Elle and her new friends make it as hidden abolitionist?
1. March 19, 1859

_First written by "siriuslybritish;" the ideas and characters belong to her._

* * *

**_Hidden _****_Abolitionists_**

**_The Diary of Elle Shoreson_**

**_Boston, Massachusetts_**

**– ❀ –**

**_1859_**

* * *

**_March 19, 1859_**

Papa says we are going to the Belmont Plantation in Virginia, for he must attend to some business matters there. I am very excited! I have never been to a place so far away. In fact, I have never set foot out of my hometown Boston, Massachusetts. Papa says we will take a train to Virginia, where we will stay with the Henley family when we arrive, who were friends of my mother's. I am looking forward to riding a train! It will be my first time ever, and I admit I am a little nervous. This will also be my first time leaving home!

This morning, Kay and I packed my trunk for the trip. We put in my best silk stockings, two pairs of shoes, my black, button-up boots, my dark-blue riding outfit, four hats (one of which is made of dark-blue felt, which I wear with my riding outfit), seven dresses (four of which are fancy, for tea and evening supper, the other three, plain house dresses), and my underclothes. I also tucked two books in the trunk, for when we get to the plantation, and I will carry one more with me on the train, to help pass the time traveling. When I am finished writing here, I will also place my diary in the trunk (I plan to stuff it between two cotton camisoles, so I know it will stay safe on the train ride, while my trunk is in the rough baggage car).

The only thing Kay and I left out was my traveling outfit, laid on my bed, which she quickly helped me change into. I stood very still as she slid the green velvet fabric over my head, then clasped the big brass buttons in the front. I have a matching green traveling hat, which Kay set gently on my head, then tied the green strings under my chin.

When we were all finished, Kay presented me with a brand-new cotton dress, with a calico print on its cream-colored skirt. Pretty, wine-colored lace framed the collar and sleeves; there was also a matching apron. Kay is by far the best dress-maker I know, but it is not often she makes me a new gown, due to expenses.

"It's so beautiful!" I exclaimed breathlessly. "Thank you!"

Kay carefully folded the dress and placed it in my trunk. "It be fo' when you gets to that plantation," she told me. "You been needin' a new dress, anyways."

I am now sitting quietly on the window seat in my room, wearing my traveling suit and hat, my legs tucked under me, waiting for four o'clock to come so Papa and I can leave for the train station — and from there, on the train, to Virginia!

My trunk sits at the foot of my bed, neatly packed. Papa will be coming up to my room soon to get it and put it in the carriage.

I love the new diary I now hold in my lap. Papa purchased it for me from Miss Lydia's shop a few days ago. It is quite fancy, with its smooth, cream-colored, burgundy cover, and gold-gilded pages. I would never have imagined receiving something so unique! But Papa knows that I want to become a teacher someday, so he told me, as he gave this to me, with a twinkle in his eye, "Writing is the first step to achieving your goal."

Oh, I hear Papa's steps coming up the long wood stairway to my room. And Kay is calling for me to pack my "book" away. I must go. I don't want to be late for my first train ride!


	2. Later

_**Williamsburg, Virginia**_

******– ❀ –**

_**1859**_

* * *

_**Later**_

Well, I am in Williamsburg, Virginia, at the Belmont Plantation. Now I will tell the tale of how I arrived here.

I always imagined trains to be hot and stuffy, crowded, and plain, but I was wrong. There were silk curtains, plush seats, and long, patterned rugs on the train Papa and I boarded. The windows were open, letting in fresh air, but it was a bit chilly — so Papa gave me one of Mother's old crocheted shawls to wrap around my shoulders. Kay made sure it was wrapped tightly enough around me, then took off my traveling hat and plaited my long brown hair. She is just like a second mother to me, really. Kay has always taken good care of me. In fact, she and Mother were very good friends. Kay was a slave, freed by her old master, when she asked Papa if she could stay on with him and Mother, and help out around the house — and Papa agreed. This shows how devoted she was to my family, to me, since the beginning. I love Kay; I do not know what I would do without her.

I saw many other slaves on the train, sitting in the back, on rough wood benches. They were chained together and looked terribly unhappy; I knew it was wrong the way they were being treated, but I held my tongue; Papa would not like me saying anything apposing, for it would surely draw attention to ourselves. But as I sat there and watched the poor slaves, a sudden urge came over me — to do something about it, to stop the way they were being treated. _I will,_ I told myself, _I _will_ do something to stop slavery. I know I will._

Then I settled back to read the book I had brought, to pass the time: _David Copperfield_, by Charles Dickens. But after a few chapters, I grew bored, and turned my attention to the scenery rolling past out the train window.

After the long train ride finally ended, we arrived in a little town called Williamsburg, which is where Mr. James Winn lives. He is an old friend of Papa's, and he allowed us to borrow his horse and buggy to drive to the Belmont Plantation; his slave, a boy named Kint, drove the buggy for us. Kint seemed nice (he talked much more than most slaves, who are always looking at their feet, and never speak a word), but my thoughts were still on the slaves from the train, and I felt a pity toward him.

When we arrived at the Belmont Plantation, Papa and I climbed out of the buggy with our trunks. I waved good-bye to Kint when Papa wasn't looking; he smiled and nodded at me, before snapping the reigns and driving off down the dirt road.

The Belmont house was large and sturdy-looking, made of brick, with a black shingled roof; it was beautiful. Then I saw something I did not appreciate.

Many, many slaves were working in the fields on the plantation. There were a few more tending to a flower garden in front of the house.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to study the beautiful scenery of the plantation, instead. I could see oak, pine, and maple trees that lined the road, where Kint had drove the buggy up to the house. I could hear the sound of horses' hooves beating the ground in the distance; there was a healthy smell in the air, that surrounded the plantation.

I looked at Papa and Kay in expectance. Papa was studying the house; Kay reached for my hat and straightened it, then retied the strings under my chin. "There. You look beautiful, chile," Kay told me to me, touching my shoulder gently.

"Thank you, Kay." I smiled at her.

Papa suddenly started toward the house. Kay and I hurriedly scrambled after him.

We arrived at a large, whitewashed porch, which led up some steps to the front door. Papa quickly knocked on the polished oakwood door. Almost immediately the door was opened by a male slave, wearing a fancy-looking suit. The man bowed to Papa and said, "Please follow me, sir," without a trace of the accent Kay, and most other slaves, possess.

Papa, Kay and I stepped into the house hesitantly. Just then someone came down the long hall, walking quickly. Mr. Henley, who wore a neat suit and a big smile, cried, "Ah, Mr. Shoreson! We've been expecting you!" He reached out and shook Papa's hand enthusiastically.

"It is a pleasure to be here, sir," Papa told him.

"Please follow me, won't you? The slaves will bring your trunks to the rooms I have had prepared for you," Mr. Henley quickly informed us.

As Papa, Kay and I followed Mr. Henley down the hall, I looked around in amazement. The house was gorgeous! It had long, polished wood tables that lined the walls, holding vases of fresh flowers; I could spot elegant mahogany furniture through the open doors we passed; crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling.

We walked past an open door, and I had time to peek inside to see a beautifully furnished library, with tall, polished, wood bookshelves holding more books than I could ever imagine to be in one room. A slave girl, who looked about my age, was dusting a bookshelf. I smiled at her, for I knew she had noticed me, but she gave me a stony look in reply, and kept dusting.

We continued to walk on, and I asked politely, "Where are we going, Mr. Henley?"

He smiled at me, and remarked to Papa, "She is a polite little thing, is she not?" Then he answered my question: "I am taking you and your father to your rooms. I am sure you are tired after your journey, so you may freshen up a bit — but I am afraid my wife insists on a tea in the parlor afterward. She is excited to see you. I will send a slave to each of your rooms in half an hour, to lead you to the parlor."

"Thank you, sir," Papa said.

We came to a door, and Mr. Henley opened it. "This is your bedroom, Missy," he said, smiling at me. "Does your slave stay with you?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, flashing him an irritated look. "And her name is Kay."

I just had time to see Papa flash me a warning look, before Mr. Henley's smile disappeared, replaced by a look of stone — the same look the dusting girl had given me.

"So I see," Mr. Henley said, in a matching stoney tone.

Kay grabbed my hand, quickly bobbed a curtsy to Mr. Henley, then went in the bedroom and shut the door behind us.

"Missy," she hissed. "Them men don't like bein' contra — conter — con —"

"Contradicted," I said softly.

I stood there fiddling my hands, until Kay sighed and went to my trunk (which had arrived at the foot of my bed), and took out the pretty, new dress she had made me. She helped me take off my now uncomfortably wrinkled traveling outfit, and change into the lightweight dress. She also brushed out my braid in long waves down my back, and threaded a wine-colored ribbon, which match the lace on my dress, through my hair.

"There." She smiled over my head in the mirror. "You look lovely, chile."

"Thank you, Kay." I stood up and squeezed her hand. Just then there was a knock on the door, which Kay quickly went to open. A slave was there, ready to lead us down to the parlor for tea.

I started out the door, then realized Kay wasn't following. I turned back to look at her. "Aren't you coming, Kay?"

She shook her head, then said softly, "You go on, chile."

The first thing I saw upon entering the parlor was a woman (Mrs. Henley, I believe) scolding an older salve woman, who was holding a silver tray with plates of cakes and tarts on it.

Mr. Henley was also there, seated on a white embroidered sofa, and when he saw us he cleared his throat at his wife, and Mrs. Henley whirled around in surprise. As soon as she saw us, her bossy expression vanished and she smiled like we were long-lost friends.

"Oh, my! Mr. Shoreson! We have been waiting for you!" She then turned her attention to me. "And is _this_ your lovely daughter? The last I saw her, she was just a little thing!" Mrs. Henley came over and pinched my cheek affectionately.

"Yes, this is Elle. Beautiful, is she not? Looks just like her mother," Papa said proudly, smiling.

"Oh, yes, she does!" Mrs. Henley agreed. She sat down on a sofa, smiling, and examining me.

"It is a pleasure to meet one of my mother's friends, Mrs. Henley," I said politely.

"Why don't you sit by me, Elle? I already feel so close to you, knowing your mother as I did!" Mrs. Henley smiled cheerily, and patted the sofa cushion beside her, but there was also a bit of sadness in her eyes. Then she quickly brightened again and said, "I'll ring for the tea." She picked up a tiny, brass handbell on a nearby table, and rung it vigorously. A sharp tinkling sound filled the room.

Almost immediately, a slave came into the room, carrying a tray with a silver teapot on it.

"Just set it on the table, Clotee," Mrs. Henley instructed.

The girl set the teapot on the table, and bobbed a curtsy to Mrs. Henley, before turning on her heal, with the tray, to leave the room. She passed me on her way to the door, and I recognized her as the dusting girl in the library.

Mrs. Henley poured Papa and I each a cup of tea, and served us generous slices of chocolate cake. We settled quite nicely in the parlor; I mostly sat quiet, listening to the grownups' conversation, sipping my tea and nibbling my chocolate cake.

"So, exactly what business are you here for, Mr. Shoreson?" Mrs. Henley inquired brightly.

"It coincides with my job as a lawyer," Papa answered. "Just some small matters with a court official here in Virginia that may take some time. Also, I have been wanting to take a trip with Elle sometime soon; she rarely gets to travel anywhere, due to my job."

"Ah, but of course."

Just then I heard a door slam nearby, and footsteps coming through the hall. A tall boy entered the parlor, looking cheerful. "Hello, Mother! My ride on Beatrice was lovely — although Hince had a bit of trouble saddling her up . . ." He froze when he saw Papa and I.

"William, this is Mr. Shoreson, and his daughter, Elle. They are going to be staying with us for a while," Mr. Henley told his son.

"Hello," William said awkwardly. He studied Papa, then looked at me, and quickly dropped his gaze to the ground and blushed.

"Well! I believe I am finished with tea for a long, long time!" Mrs. Henley laughed lightly. She set her teacup on the table, then turned to her son. "William, dear, why don't you show Elle around the grounds while Mr. Henley and your father and I talk in the sitting room?" she suggested.

"Okay," William mumbled, still looking at his feet.

I asked to be excused to get my cloak in my room, as the weather is a bit chilly outside; Mrs. Henley nodded her consent, and told me William will wait at the front door. So I hurried to my room where I threw my cloak over my shoulders, and quickly wrote this down so I wouldn't forget the details.

But I best be going now. William is sure to be waiting.


	3. March 20, 1859

_**March 20, 1859**_

I found William sitting on a settee in the hall, near the front door, waiting for me. He stood as I approached, just as I finished tying the ribbons at the neck of my blue wool cloak.

"You know, you don't have to see the grounds if you don't want," William muttered. "I could show you the house, instead."

"Oh, I don't mind," I replied, though I thought it was kind of him for being so thoughtful.

I followed William as he opened the front door and went outside. He started by showing me his mother's flower garden. "She is very proud of it," he said. "She orders the gardeners to take special care of her favorite white roses. And see that big oak tree near the house? That tree was there when my father bought the plantation, fifteen years ago. When I was a young boy, Papa had a swing hung on it for me." I could tell from his voice that William held great respect and pride in his father. "It's still there, unused now."

I was quiet the whole time, just listening to him talk. I glanced at the swing, blowing slowly in a soft breeze, looking old and unwanted.

William next showed me the stables, where his horse, Beatrice, was kept. "She was given to me as a birthday gift, last year, when I turned fourteen," he told me. "I ride her every day; it's lots of fun, and also good exercise." Then he stubbed his toe at some hay on the stables ground and asked shyly, "Maybe you'd like to go riding with me sometime?"

I nodded. "Sure, I'd like that! If I am allowed a horse. Although, I must admit, I'm not the best rider."

William grinned. "Well, then, I can teach you some. I'm an expert rider, been riding since I was a young boy."

We exited the stables and came around to the back of the house, where William said he would show me the fields.

As I walked beside him, I had time to study William. He had dark-blond hair and round, soft-brown eyes; his jaw was square, with full, red lips; he was about a half a foot taller than I.

I think I was staring a bit too long, because William noticed and gave me a puzzled look. I quickly dropped my head to my feet and blushed.

"There's the fields," William said, pointing, and I couldn't help noticing his grim tone.

I caught my breath as I stared past his finger to the huge wheat fields, where hundreds of slaves reaped the crop with scythes, their backs hunched over. I noticed a couple of white men standing nearby, watching the slaves carefully, a black whip coiled neatly at each of their sides — _Slave masters,_ I thought grimly.

Just then, a young slave woman, who couldn't be more than twenty, stopped working for a moment to stand and rub her aching back. One of the slave masters reacted immediately, taking out his ship and raising it to strike the girl across her back.

I was mesmerized as much as I was horrified. I was about to cry out, when William put a hand on my arm and drew me away from the horrible scene.

"Come," he said, "we should go."

I reluctantly followed him, feeling I should do something about it. As we walked away, I couldn't help hearing the terrible cracks of the whip, and the cries of the slave woman.

I believe William was trying to get my mind off of what had just happened, for he took me to a beautiful fruit orchard around the side of the house, where apple, plum, and apricot trees stood proudly.

"Here," William said, handing me an early apricot fruit off a nearby tree.

"Thank you, William," I said, and took a bite of the sweet fruit. Some juice trickled down my chin, which I wiped off with my sleeve.

"Oh, it's just Will," he told me. "You can call me Will. No one really calls me 'William' around here."

"All right, Will, where will we go next?" I asked, smiling.

"Well, um, there's the, um, garden." Will seemed flustered from my teasing demeanor. "We can go there if you like. . . ."

After I had finished my tour (which, I admit, I very much enjoyed — except for the fields part) it was getting late, and I was tired from my travel on the train. Mrs. Henley had a bath drawn for me, and after scrubbing myself quickly and thoroughly, I slipped a soft nightgown, from my trunk, over my head.

There was a tall window in my room; I went to stand by it. I was alone at the moment; Kay was off taking her own bath (Mrs. Henley, very rudely, claimed she would not have "dirty Boston slaves" in her house, and ordered Kay to bathe. If Kay was hurt from Mrs. Henley's words, she didn't show it; and I'm certain she didn't mind a bath).

The bright moon shone through the window on me. I sighed, and sat down on the window seat, staring up at the moon, and thought of my mother.

When I was four years old, there was a short, horrible yellow fever epidemic in Boston. Many people caught it and died . . . including my mother.

Mama was sick for weeks. This fate seemed so twisted and cruel — for when my mother was well, she was the sort of person who took herbs, medicines, and hot breakfast to the elderly, who were unwell. In fact, Papa and I believe Mama caught the fever while she was visiting at the hospital, helping out, one day.

I was so frightened and sad while my mother was sick, that I cried myself into my pillow every night, then slept what little I could manage — and during the day, I couldn't eat. Kay often remarked worriedly (when she wasn't tending to Mama) how painfully thin I was growing.

Mama passed away just before my fifth birthday. I might have been young, but I remember it all too well — the funeral, everyone weeping and saying goodbye, clustered around the coffin.

I try not to think of my mother, now; it's so painful . . . But I can't help it, and often think of her a long time everyday — her smooth hands, how she caressed my face just before she kissed me goodnight. Her long brown hair and blue eyes (people always remarked how much I looked like her).

I then did something I secretly do at home, in my room — I talked to Mama. I told her of my day — of Papa's and my train ride, arriving at the Belmont Plantation, and of Mr. and Mrs. Henley, and Will.

Then I prayed God send my next message up to heaven, to Mama — I asked her to help me do something to help the poor slaves I'd seen on the train, and at the plantation. For some great, rebellious thing was growing inside of me, against slavery. I could feel it.

My eyelids were feeling heavy, then, so I whispered, "Good night, Mama," with one last, longing glance at the cloudless, night sky. Then I went to my new bed in my new room, crawled under the covers, and fell asleep.


End file.
